


Night stops here

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, NSFW, Sex, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 02:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12621332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Steve's poisoned on a mission and his romantic evening is ruined before it starts.  But nothing can stop Bucky from sticking by his side.





	Night stops here

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from Tumblr. Find me @Builder051

Steve’s doing his final sweep of the building when the light mist starts gently swirling in the air.  At first, he pays it no mind.  It’s an abandoned lab, after all.  But when he starts to taste the vapor’s odd sweetness, he holds one gloved hand over his nose and mouth and calls out to Nat over his comm.

 

“There’s some kind of mist in here.  I’m evacuating.  Doesn’t look like anyone’s home, though.”

 

“What kind of mist?” Nat asks.

 

“I don’t know.  Whitish?  It tastes weird.”

 

“Then stop breathing it in and get the fuck out of there,” Nat says.

 

They meet out in front of the old brick department store after determining that all four floors are clear.  The only suspects are already in custody with local PD.  An agent is pulling the shiny black Hummer around to transport them back to SHIELD.

 

“You ok?” Nat inquires.  “Fury’s got the biohazard crew coming in.  You know, to take care of whatever you found upstairs.”

 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Steve says.  He knows most inhaled drugs take effect quickly.  It’s been a good 20 minutes since he breathed in the mist, and he still feels fine. 

 

“Ready to go?  Can I trust you not to hulk out in the car or something?” Nat teases. 

 

“I’m fine,” Steve repeats.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be jello powder or something up in that lab.”

 

Nat laughs.  “Yeah, looks like this one was another dud.  I didn’t even have to draw a weapon.”

 

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Steve reminds her.  “Maybe we’re entering a new age of weak, compliant criminals.”

 

“But what fun’s that?”

 

The joke is still funny when they’re climbing out of the car in front of the SHIELD building. 

 

“Do I need to take you to the shooting range?” Steve asks, chuckling as he reaches into the backseat for his shield.  “You really need to fire a gun that badly?”  He looks to Nat with an inkling of concern.

 

“I do!” Nat insists.  “But later.  I have so many files to go through right now.  What those douches didn’t have in firepower they certainly made up for in RAM.”  She tosses the thumb drive she’s holding up in the air and catches it. 

 

“Yeah, I don’t envy you,” Steve says.

 

He and Nat go their separate ways once inside the huge, open complex of a building.  Steve heads straight to his medical debrief, picking up a clipboard of papers on the way.  He fills out his mission report the old fashioned way, scraping his pencil across the lines and checkboxes as a nurse takes his blood pressure. 

 

He looks up when Fury enters the room.  “How’re you doing?” the director asks.  “I heard you inhaled some kind of substance on your mission.”

 

“I’m fine,” Steve says for what already feels like the thousandth time.  He really is.  No ill effects at the one hour mark.  “It could’ve been dust. Powdered sugar.  I don’t know.”

 

Fury raises his eyebrow at the nurse, waiting for her to give a contradictory report.  “Everything’s reading normal, sir,” she says.  “I don’t have any concerns with releasing him.”

 

“Well, alright then,” Fury declares with a shrug.  “Head on home.  Give us a call if anything happens.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve replies, signing off on the bottom of his mission report form. 

 

He leaves medical and heads to the locker room to clean up and change his clothes.  He showers quickly and pulls on a pair of khakis and a white t-shirt.  Donning his leather jacket, Steve exits to the parking lot and starts up his bike. 

 

The ride itself is uneventful, but something, maybe the roar of his bike’s engine, is giving Steve a monster of a headache.  He’s probably hungry and thirsty, though he doesn’t feel it.  And he’s definitely tired.  It’s later than usual for him to get home.

 

Steve raises the garage door and parks his bike beside the silver sedan.  He enters the house and immediately drops is backpack and bends to unlace his boots.  The entire downstairs smells like food; Bucky’s clearly making dinner. 

 

“Hey,” Steve says as he slips into the kitchen. 

 

“Evening, sir,” Bucky playfully replies, forcing the top off a beer with his metal hand and passing it to Steve.  He turns back to the pan of chicken breasts sizzling on the stove, giving Steve a sideways smile.

 

“Thanks.”  Steve accepts the bottle and takes a swig.

 

“Good mission?” Bucky asks.  “I figured you were doing something exciting.”

 

“No, actually,” Steve says, picking at the label on the bottle with his thumbnail.  “We got the suspects really easily.  It was just a huge building, so it was mostly wandering around looking for danger…”

 

“Did you get to beat anybody up?”

 

“No, it was really uneventful.  One for the record books, I guess,” Steve explains.  Then, “Do I need to worry about you?”

 

“Huh?”  Bucky’s sliding chicken onto plates with a spatula. 

 

“You’re, like, gunning for violence.”  Steve wishes he’d chosen different words.  “I mean, Nat was doing the same thing and god knows I waste enough energy worrying about her…”

 

“Naw, I don’t want people to get hurt,” Bucky says.  “Figured you must’ve done something hard-core, though.  You look tired.”

 

Steve sighs and leans sideways so the edge of the countertop bites into his hip.  He’s exhausted.  He feels like he did so little today.  The clock’s barely reading 8:00, but he’s practically ready to sleep.

 

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs flatly. 

 

“Don’t apologize for how you feel,” Bucky says, turning around to hand Steve a plate.  “I did have some ideas for a different kind of, uh, violent fantasy.”  He playfully slaps Steve on the ass with his spatula.  “But it’s all up to you.”

 

Steve smiles.  He takes his food and beer to the table.  “Maybe dinner’ll perk me up.”

 

They eat, then start clean up.  Steve pauses in rinsing the frying pan to fill a glass of water from the tap.  He still has an oppressive headache.  He swallows the liquid in a few gulps, then considers chasing it with some Excedrin. 

 

But Bucky comes up behind him and completely redirects Steve’s thoughts.  He wraps both arms around Steve’s chest and kisses the back of his neck.

 

“Hey,” Steve greets him, shivering slightly as goosebumps break out over his arms. 

 

“You almost done with that?” Bucky whispers, his warm breath tickling Steve’s ear.

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve replies.  “You’ve…got some plans?”

 

“Only if you’re feeling up to it,” Bucky says.  But the way he’s grinding into Steve’s back pocket doesn’t really leave much of a choice.  His body’s already reacting. 

 

“I think I can handle it,” Steve murmurs, slipping the frying pan into the drainer basket and turning around to face Bucky head on. 

 

Clothes hit the floor as soon as they’re upstairs.  Steve’s unexpectedly freezing, but Bucky’s form against his gives back some of the warmth.  They kiss fiercely until Steve has to pull back for air. 

 

“Ok?” Bucky checks in. 

 

Steve doesn’t answer right away.  An affirmative is on the tip of his tongue, but something keeps him from speaking.  Maybe it’s the creeping line of sweat dripping down his spine.  Or the way the bed’s suddenly as unsteady as the deck of a ship beneath him. 

 

“Stevie?”  Bucky traces the pads of his fingers down Steve’s arm from shoulder to elbow.

 

“Hold…hold on a second,” Steve whispers.  Iciness grips his head, sending bolts of freezing pain into his neck, jaw, and down toward his stomach.  He’s slackening, losing all his body’s taught arousal as his breath starts to come too fast.  “Sorry.”

 

“Hey, it’s fine.”  Bucky reaches for Steve’s cheek.  He wipes away a patch of clammy perspiration.  “You ok?”

 

Steve swallows the bitter saliva that’s flooding his mouth.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Yeah, I…I’m…”  But he’s forced to change tacts.  “I’m gonna be sick.” 

 

It takes them both by surprise.  Steve struggles over Bucky’s legs and trips into the ensuite.  He’s gagging before he finds the toilet, and undigested dinner finds the toilet seat before Steve can position himself properly.  Bucky gives him a moment of privacy while he finds his underwear, then appears soothingly at his side. 

 

“Hey, you’re alright,” Bucky intones.  He pats Steve’s back with his metal hand, setting off a wave of reverberating tremors.  He quickly switches sides and strokes Steve’s shoulder with the backs of his flesh fingers instead. 

 

Steve retches hard, the muscles in his neck straining against the onslaught.  He comes up coughing, sending flecks of mucous and stomach acid spraying everywhere.  “Sorry,” he croaks out.  “I, I mean—”  But another heave cuts him off. 

 

“Breathe, ok?” Bucky says.  “Don’t worry about anything else.”

 

Minutes later, Steve’s still dry retching.  He grips the edges of the toilet so tightly his knuckles are white and shaking.  He finally gets a chance to couch air back into his lungs.  “Buck, I’m really sorry.”  He spits into the porcelain bowl, and Bucky hands him a wad of toilet paper.  Steve can barely bring it to his lips; the tremor in his hands is so violent. 

 

Bucky uses another handful of tissue to wipe the toilet seat.  “You being sick is a way bigger problem than my blue balls,” he says, the slightest smile ghosting his lips.  “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Oh, god,” Steve groans as his stomach clenches again. 

 

“Hey, ride it out.  It’s gonna be ok.”  Bucky tucks his hand under Steve’s jaw, then places it over his forehead.  “You don’t feel like you have a fever or anything…”

 

“You feeling ok?” Steve gasps. 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.  I don’t think it could’ve been the food, then…”

 

From the bedroom, Steve’s phone starts ringing. 

 

“Ignore it,” Bucky says when Steve stiffens mid-gag.

 

“No…that’s Nat’s ringtone…” Steve forces out.  “She’ll never stop calling…”

 

“You want me to get it?”

 

Steve gives a slight nod.

 

Bucky’s body heat leaves with him as he pads back around the bed to locate Steve’s phone in the pocket of his discarded khakis.  “Hey, it’s not a good time,” he says when he answers. 

 

He must’ve put the device on speaker.  Nat’s voice crackles across the room to Steve’s swimming ears.  “I don’t wanna know what I’m interrupting,” she says.  “Where’s Steve?”

 

“He’s busy,” Bucky says.  “But you’re on speaker.  What do you got?”

 

“I’m going over those files from the lab,” Nat says.  “And, uh, I have some bad news.  About the vapor or whatever Steve inhaled.”

 

“What?”  Bucky sprints back to Steve’s side, giving him a bewildered look.

 

Steve shakes his head and covers his face with his sweaty palms.

 

“It looks like the creeps were working on some kind of bio weapon.  Something delayed-action, meant to make you think you’re fine, then sneak up on you and take you out.”

 

“Ok, what, what effects does it have?” Bucky asks, clearly beginning to panic. 

 

“Vomiting, mostly.  Some dizziness and disorientation.  Seems like it’s mainly formulated to weaken enemies through extreme dehydration.”

 

Steve sighs and tries not to puke again.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky curses.  “He’s already thrown up five or ten times…  What do I need to do?  Take him in to medical?  Quarantine?”

 

“From what I can tell, effects last a couple days for most people.  So maybe ten or twelve hours, considering his metabolism?  It’s not contagious. Just…make sure he doesn’t shrivel up in the meantime,” Nat says.  “Bring him in if he needs an IV.  Otherwise, I’ll just let Fury know.  There doesn’t seem like much else can be done.”

 

Bucky takes a deep breath.  “Ok.  I’ll, uh, I’ll call you.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Thanks, Nat.  Bye.”  He ends the call and immediately squats beside Steve again.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?  You inhaled something?” Bucky demands.

 

His voice isn’t loud, but it makes Steve’s sore head pound.  “It wasn’t… didn’t… seem like a big deal,” he mutters.  Then he retches up a mouthful of rancid-tasting bile. 

 

“But still, you’ve gotta be open about stuff like this.”

 

Steve knows Bucky’s right.  He’s not doing a great job keeping up his end of their communication bargain.  But his brain and his mouth aren’t on the same wavelength.  Speaking, especially about deep thoughts, is becoming a challenge he isn’t up to facing.  “Can we…talk about it later?” 

 

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky says.  He dampens a washcloth and helps Steve clean up a little.

 

“’S probably not worth doing,” Steve exhales.

 

“It’s gonna make you a little more comfortable,” Bucky insists.  “I’ll get you some water.  Do you want clothes?  Pajamas?”

 

He sets Steve up with a pair of sweatpants and a paper cup of lukewarm tap water.  “Here’s your pillow.  Some towels…” Bucky sees to arranging a makeshift nest on the cold tile floor.  Once Steve’s somewhat stationed, delicately draped over the toilet seat, Bucky takes a spot on the floor straddled behind him, inviting Steve to lean back against his body once he’s finished with this round of sickness.

 

“Could go to bed,” Steve rasps at him. 

 

“Naw, if this is what you’re doing tonight, this is what I’m doing tonight too.”


End file.
